JulieAloha

Those of you who are Stargate fans will get the reference, but this isn’t about a wonderfully entertaining and sorely missed Sci-fi show; this is about depression. I’ve struggled with depression since I was a teenager – blame the hormones, I suppose. Sometimes I get a warning, a vague sense of malaise which slowly darkens my world, turning my thoughts against me, before the whirlwind pins me down. I’ve learned to give myself a time limit when this happens; you may have one morning, one day, one weekend to be sad, this set amount of time to give in to the melancholy, then you must shake it off and struggle through the other side. Sometimes it works. Sometimes…

But other times it comes upon my world with terrifying swiftness, striking me down from clear skies, crashing, crushing. I can’t breathe, the air is swept away; I can’t see through the darkness; I hear only the voices in the wind, taunting me with hopelessness and despair, jagged, cutting, biting words, slicing through my ragged defenses. I am Dorothy, trapped in the small gray house, winds howling with fury about me, threatening, dangerous, imminent. Some think depression is just a state of mind, that if you just buck up and find the positives everything will be fine. Those people will never understand – mostly because they will only be able to spout their theory to a depressed person once and that person will never trust them with their fears again. My depression is about failure, perceived or real. It’s about loneliness and fear, self loathing and vulnerability. My thoughts turn ever faster, spinning out of control, shredding my self worth as their velocity increases and there’s nothing to anchor me, no cellar, no lifeline. That’s not quite true; I have my faith in God, but at times like this I have no faith in myself. I can feel His presence with me when I call on Him, holding me, loving me, but I know He will not magically make everything better – that’s not His job. He does not let the winds carry me away, but neither does He send them away. Tough love. So, no Oz for me. And no easy out either; no click of the heels, no falling on the sword, no martyrdom – not an option. Just a profound submersion into despondency, desolate and barren. The eye of this storm is not a calm respite. It is hollow and empty, devoid of light or sound, throbbing with both pain and apathy, surrender.

I have been mostly unemployed for about a year and a half. I left a job I loved, but which had become a kind of living hell, persecuted by a bully boss who did not like me to stand up to her. I found a new job I loved, a bright ray of hope, but temporary, sporadic. Still, I hoped it would prove to be a foot in the door and I followed every opportunity to push that door open. Yesterday it slammed closed and I turned to face the hurricane again. I am beaten, my health is poor, my support wanes, my resources gone. I have no more will to fight, to struggle. I have no more energy. I have no more. Existence is futile. But it’s all I have left.

So. Count. A moment. Two. Another. They just keep going. So will I.